A Night of Firewhiskey and Confessions
by Dusked
Summary: She was striking, infatuating. Each time he looked at her, he felt a rapid, yet pleasant thump in his chest, and he couldn't recall the time he didn't smile when he heard her name. An unexpected meet leads to a passionate affair that, in the end, could result in consequence, or pure gift. Short story, AU-EWE. Bill x Hermione, Romance/Hurt-Comfort. Smut.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

I never really took an interest in the pairing Bill/Hermione, didn't even have much of a liking towards it. However, after giving it a chance and reading some fantastic fanfics, the ship became one of my favourites. Since then, I've wanted to try it out myself. This is my first time writing the elder Weasley, so I apologise if my take on his character isn't very good. Forgive me, and I hope you enjoy!

Thank you to my wonderful Beta:** _Mrs. Milfoy._**

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**DISCLAIMER: **The rights to _Harry Potter_ are in the ownership of J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfic has only been written for fun, and other readers/writers entertainment.

**RATING: **M+/NC-17.

**WARNING(S): **Strong, graphic sexual content/themes, and some explicit profanity. **Do not read any further if uncomfortable reading things of this nature.**

**EXTRA NOTES: **This is total AU, EWE and is set in Post-Hogwarts. For the sake of the plot of this fanfic, Bill's "wolf side" is very different to what J.K had written. Those who are fans of Fleur Delacour, in this fanfic, she is portrayed differently than she was in the book, (off-screen) especially towards Bill's "condition" – purely for the plot reasons.

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**_NIGHT OF FIREWHISKEY AND CONFESSIONS_**

**_By: Dusked_**

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**May, 2003**

Red and purple light exploded above him, a scattering of brilliant coloured shards dotted the navy, unclouded sky, as the rhythm of celebrations awakened.

It should have lifted his dampened spirits – unfortunately, it didn't.

His arrival at The Burrow's annual bonfire night, (an anniversary of Voldemort's defeat), had been greeted by apologies and sorrow from the one thing he'd tried to avoid or wished not to happen. After all, several months had passed, and Bill had moved past his and Fleur's separation.

Their break-up had ended on a mutual agreement. From the war, heart-wrenching losses, and the need for comfort that neither he nor his ex-wife could provide for each other, they had decided to end their marriage; and within a few weeks, the divorce papers had been signed. They loved one another, yes, but not in the way most craved, and so Fleur returned to France in hopes to seal her wounds, just as he remained home to heal his. So far, he was recovering slowly, but was still in search for that one person who could completely glue his broken soul back together.

His condition hadn't really helped. Who in their right mind would want to be associated with a man who was part-wolf?

No one at all.

Fluer _had _accepted his state – at first. But after the war, he thought she'd seen him differently, especially when the topic of children arose. She'd believed the babies they might conceive would be spoiled with his lycanthropy, even when professional healers had repeatedly informed her such an assumption was highly unlikely or nearing impossible as he did not carry the somewhat disease fully, and it was unnecessary to think so. To say he was hurt was an understatement. Hearing his own wife describe his problem as contamination had shattered him even more. He – and their relationship – felt cheapened by her lack of respect.

And there was an occasion where he _knew _he couldn't go on like this, during one of their many arguments. She'd looked at him, streaks of tears on her cheeks, and had said, _"I don't zee Bill anymore when I look at you. I only zee a stranger."_

It had felt like splinters had stabbed his chest, and then something inside of him had shriveled and died, leaving this stark, hollow abyss from the realisation that she might just be right.

But as time passed and he thought about it, he saw that maybe having a child with Fluer and starting a new life with her would've been a mistake. Not that she wouldn't have been a capable, nurturing mother, but because of the obvious: she hadn't been his mate.

In the beginning, he thought she was _the_ _one, _but as the growth of his inner-wolf expanded, his feelings changed, and he knew he'd have to leave her to hunt his lifetime mate and significant other. If she _had _been his mate, he would've impregnated her the first time they'd slept together. That was how it worked.

And then... it was over. Just like that.

Which lead him here - back home. Evidently a wrong decision judging by the constant attention he didn't want to receive from his family. He was okay in the sense of the past issues between him and Fleur, but (this he kept to himself) he wasn't really okay with life in general. What with not accomplishing the task of finding his mating partner, and that basically, he was alone_. _Just... _alone_.

After ten more minutes of continuous bouts of affection, and once the festivities had simmered, he felt worn out and decided to vacate into the garden illuminated with floating fairy lights. Quite lovely. However, given his rotten mood, he sunk deeper into the darkness – close enough to the house, but far enough that it gave the implication he wanted to be alone. And as he settled down, the soft currents of wind threaded through his crimson hair.

It was peaceful. Calm.

Just..._something _he hadn't had the chance to savour in months. A sorry smile there, an "it's going to be okay, mate" here. He was sick of it.

Stretching, he sighed as the strained bones in his back cracked, and as he breathed in the cold air, he caught her scent before he sensed her presence behind him. He didn't bother turning around, and instead stared straight ahead, asking quite tightly, "Haven't come to apologise like all the others, have you?"

"I've already given my apology, so see no reason to do it again."

As he looked up, he froze mid-sentence as his eyes roved over an apparent new Hermione Granger. A full-grown woman replaced the blinding school-girl image, from the days she'd matured that he hadn't had the pleasure of witnessing. Her figure had smooth dips, and his eyes were drawn to the curved Cupid's bow above her ripe, cherry-glossed lips. She had certainly flourished into this delicious creature, and Bill internally screamed at the inappropriate thoughts beginning to fog his rational mind.

It wasn't that he hadn't noticed her before. But he'd only seen her a handful of times, spoken to her twice, and those encounters were short. Even so, his views on her had changed. His desires and feelings had churned into this messy and confusing mixture, also, and he couldn't blame it all on his wolf side. Still, he'd tried to ignore it, and he had succeeded, but seeing her now had revived those feelings.

And the worst part was these feelings were most probably unrequited.

"Well?" Her voice sliced through his dazed thoughts, and he raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you going to give me a hug? I haven't seen you since you left for India."

This was true, and for some reason, he felt guilty for this – maybe because he'd said a brief goodbye to her, when she was the one he'd wanted to give the longest and most meaningful. Alas, perhaps his wolf wasn't as courageous as he thought. Leaving her was hard. It was stupid, but true. He'd only gone to India to clear his head and focus on his priorities; he hadn't needed to leave the country to do that, but running had been his first option until he realised how ridiculous he was being, and became determined to triumph over this emptiness inside.

He didn't get to reply, as she threw herself at him, her arms a painful, yet exquisite clench around his torso. "I've missed you, Bill."

"I've... I've missed you, too," he found himself muttering, the words flowing from his mouth as if they were the typical thing to say.

He took the advantage of their closeness then, and inhaled a deep, steadying breath. The wolfish tendencies meant a heightening of senses, and through the breeze, he could detect her spicy, tropical shampoo, the smell of books on her fingertips, and the natural scent that bloomed from her golden skin – an exotic blend of a heady musk and sweetness. His hands trembled and he moistened his dry lips.

It seemed she hadn't paid attention to his odd behaviour, as she tightened her hold on him for a second before pulling back, beaming up at him. "When did you get back?"

"Last week."

She wore a knowing smirk, cocking her head to the side. "Is that a lie, Bill?"

Jesus, he was sweating too much too soon. Her sharp eye was impressive, but he couldn't tell how she'd known he was lying. It had been three weeks since he'd returned to England, and he'd kept it to himself, aiming to attain a few nights without his family's owls tapping on the window. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled nervously. "That obvious, huh?"

"To someone who knows how to observe another's actions." She pointed to his ear. "You were fiddling with your earring. Common sign."

_Oh. _He hadn't known he was doing that. "You really are as smart as everyone says."

It was her turn to blush this time, a rosy tint misted her cheeks, and he felt the sudden urge to reach out and test its heat, feel the electricity shoot up his fingers. He repressed the urge, his hands fisted at his sides. "Yes, well, are you going to tell me why you've been hiding away all this time?"

There was no point lying now. "I'm tired of everyone attending to my needs. I needed an escape."

"An escape? From what?"

He shrugged. "Everything. My marriage had failed, the press were on my arse twenty-four seven...it was suffocating. It was like I was in a glass box, and it would gradually fill up with water until eventually, I'd drown. And everyone around me could see that, but didn't break the glass, didn't even chip at it to relive the pressure. They allowed it to fill, even when it brimmed over and pooled at their feet." He shoved a hand through his hair, ignoring the sharp tug at his scalp. "I needed to breathe for a while. And I did, and I thought it had all blown over – but it hadn't. As soon as I came back, I was bombarded by my family, showering me with affection that I _didn't want or need. _I was fine, moving on with my life until I came back."

She was sitting next to him now, knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. "It's how they show that they care –"

"I know, I know," he dismissed quickly, knowing it was rude to have cut her off, but his _other side _shone through only a bit. "And I appreciate their concern. It's just... they're adamant the reason for mine and Fleur's split was her fault, when it wasn't. We both wanted different things, so we both came to the deal of divorce. Sometimes, though, I feel I hold more of the blame –"

"Don't say that –"

"It's true. I lead her on thinking we'd work together, but I knew that as time progressed, it wouldn't." Hermione looked at him expectedly, like his answer wasn't enough. "She wasn't my mate, Hermione. I wasn't going to continue a vain life with a woman I wasn't supposed to be with. Not only would I have been lying to Fleur, but I'd be lying to myself – kidding myself that I could survive a full life without knowing who my true mate was. I couldn't do it. "

Half-expecting her to either cuss in disgust, or run away, he was shocked to find her shuffle closer to him. "Have you found your mate yet?"

"No, I...," his sentence trailed off, and he swallowed as he just _gazed _at her, like for the first time. Pulse escalating, sweat beading at his brow, and an uncomfortable tightness forming in his trousers, he captured that one aroma he'd been waiting for. It was almost inconceivable, but it was _there, _and it was _pure_. She was the one. She – Hermione Granger – was his mate. No, this couldn't be right. He was nearly ten years her senior. No, this was a mistake. Quickly shaking his head, and forcing himself _not _to fiddle with his earring, he regained his train of thought. "No, I haven't."

This had to be impossible. But it wasn't. He'd know that smell anywhere. Since adjusting to his wolf traits that altered and reshaped his DNA and enzymes, he'd learnt that his strong combination of animal and human hormones were able to pick up her mate scent from her blood. The evolutionary development of a male wolf discovering his mate through that individual fragrance was much easier nowadays, unless you were a newborn, much like Bill. And now that he'd found her, she gave off a unique, tempting aphrodisiac that seriously maddened him.

He averted his gaze, praying that she'd leave him alone as if she stayed, it would be incredibly difficult for him to control his impulses.

Waiting. There was _too much _waiting. Well, that's what it felt like. Time passing excruciatingly slowly.

But she didn't go. Instead, she placed her fingers under his chin and tilted it up, emitting a heat through his body. She smiled. "Don't be sad, Bill. You'll find her soon."

Had it not been for his magnified eyesight, he wouldn't have seen it; within her eyes, he saw something, a faint glistening that suggested that she..._knew _something, that she wanted something. It was trivial, slight, and disappeared in a few seconds when she dropped her hand, but an awareness _had_ sprouted.

Clearing his throat, he turned the attention away from him. "What about you? Found anyone?"

"No," she sighed. "Nearly a year now."

Ah, he'd forgotten she'd only just parted from Ron. He was quite surprised when he'd been informed of the news, that the couple had split because his baby brother had proposed six months into their relationship. Bad move, as it was an eye-opener for Hermione, and made her realise her feelings for Ron were brotherly, and the kiss they'd shared during the war had simply been in the heat of the moment. It had taken a little while for Ron to cool down after he'd lashed out of her, but once he'd consumed one or two firewhiskey's, he understood her reasoning, and that she'd been right on all points.

It was wrong, but he'd been more than a little joyful. Keeping it to himself of course, by quelling any comments that tingled on his tongue and showing compassion. He did feel sorry for his brother, as he'd been down the same road.

"A pretty thing like you?" he blurted; the words hadn't meant to slip past his thinned lips, but her presence was beginning to have great effect on him. His inner-wolf was causing him to become sultry, a flirt. "I think you're the one telling lies now, Miss Granger."

Her eyes lit up, and a heavier flush stained her cheeks. His erection jerked. _No. _He should be repelling her, not enticing her!

Damn.

And then she touched his hand. Just a brush. "Would I ever lie to you, Mister Weasley?"

He swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching. "That's a question for you to answer."

"I've had some approach me with interest, but it didn't get further than a full conversation as it turned out they were only interested in me as Harry Potter's side-kick - not for the real me," she said around a laugh, but it was humourless. "Sad, isn't it?"

Yes, it was. He had his fair share of that, too. He'd come by witches that had recognised him in the street, and had practically thrown themselves at him. This being in the time frame where he'd tried to clear his head, he had granted their wishes, resulting in several one-night stands. Some good. Some bad. But never satisfying, or that made him yearn for more. And most didn't made him feel happier, but worse in himself.

She continued with a sigh, "It's not that I wanted to go out with those men. Their intentions shone right through. It's more that... I wouldn't be surprised if it was always going to be that way, you know? That no one will be interested in me, or want to be involved with me unless I recall tales of the war, or have Harry Potter attached to my hip."

"That's not true, Hermione."

The corner of her mouth bent up. "And how do you know that?"

"Because," he started, and he reached up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, letting his hand linger at her cheek, "you're twenty-three, and have years ahead of you. There _will _be someone for you, you just haven't met them yet. Or maybe you have, and you're just waiting for the right moment. And when they get to know Hermione Granger, the smart, considerate, and gorgeous witch – they'll fall in love with you, and won't ever let go. And if they do, well, they'll be a fool."

Eyes slightly glazed over with unshed tears, she whispered, "Do you really mean that?"

It happened because of an uncontrollable impulse. It happened because it felt the right time. It happened because, damn, he just _needed _to.

"I should tell you, but I'd rather show you."

With ravenous need, he crushed his lips to hers. And it was absolute heaven. He now understood what his werewolf allies had meant by feeling as if you'd been dunked in scalding water, or set alight when you got that first touch. That first taste. A stir of convulsing flames trapped inside his body, coursing through his blood, skin burning, and a throbbing, erratic pulse. That was what it felt like. In every fibre of his body.

At first, he coaxed her mouth apart, careful not to scare her away. That was the last thing he wanted. Simple presses soon turned into a growing passion, as his tongue broke past the seam of her lips and tangled with hers, tasting the sweet taste of chocolate and a mild tinge of firewhiskey. The pressure and heat increased, and he buried a hand in her chestnut curls, teasing a timid moan from her throat.

Growling in his chest, he tore himself away from her. This wasn't supposed to be happening! "I'm sorry, I... I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay, I didn't mind." Her lips were puffy and dampened from his furious hunger, and her cheeks were flamed. She smiled and touched a finger to her lips, the tingles of his kiss lingering. "I've wanted you to do that for quite some time now."

His eyes nearly bulged from his sockets, and his heart felt as it would burst past his ribcage. "W-what?"

"Oh, come on, Bill," she breathed with slight disbelief and amusement. "Surely you've noticed I've taken a liking to you? More than a liking, actually."

"N-no, I can't say I have."

Sighing, she bit her lip. "When I met you for the first time – that's when it all started. Of course, I couldn't act on it. I was fourteen, and so, I tried to dismiss it as a crush. It did vanish for a while, but when I saw you again, all these feelings came rushing back. I thought I'd have my chance, but I didn't because you'd met Fleur, and you were happy. I wasn't going to ruin that." She shrugged, and ran her hands up her arms, like she was suddenly insecure. "And so...I just blocked it out and held it back. Only when Ron and I split, as did you and Fleur – did I think maybe they'd be the slight possibility for us to try. That I'd have a chance with you." She peeked up through her lashes at him. "Do I?"

He reached over and skimmed his hand up her neck, settling on her cheek and stroking the soft skin. "I wish you'd told me sooner. I wouldn't have had waited for you all this time." She went to speak, but he silenced her with a shake of his head. "I've wanted you for as long as I could remember. So yes, Hermione, you have more than a chance."

And then he kissed her again, harder this time, pouring every inch of fervour into it, just to show her how much he wanted her. She sighed into his mouth and swept her thumb over his jaw, her other hand fisting the fabric of his shirt. As she was now half-sitting on him, he tugged her onto his lap, gently kneading her backside and grinding her against his painful erection. He needed relief. Badly.

"Bill, _please._"

Teasingly, he nibbled at her earlobe, his breathing matching her laboured pants. "Please what, Hermione? What do you want?"

By this point, he was beginning to level with his inner-wolf. His actions would be influenced by this other side to him – of course, he'd be able to stop with enough persuasion and force, but it would be a disappointment if he did need to. However, he was confident she wanted this, from her keen and impatient responses and the fact he'd caught a whiff of her arousal in her damp knickers, causing the fine hairs on his arms to stand on end.

"Anything," she said breathlessly. "I don't care what, just – please, do something. _Anything._"

_Fuck, _this girl could flip with the snap of his fingers. Innocent, stubborn Gryffindor was now a fiery, willing...lioness; cliche, but true. He wondered what made her this receptive. Had she really been deprived of any sexual contact? Surely not. Though, secretly, he hoped she hadn't, as knowing he'd been the first in months to touch her this way made blood surge to his groin.

He moved to her neck, latching onto the soft, supple flesh, and her husky whimper rippled over his forehead. Desperate was the light way of putting how she was – more like starved. Tugging down her strapless, powder-blue tea dress, he growled at the sight of her naked chest; creamy, full skin with darkish nipples that puckered under the night's cool air. Even basked in the shadows, he really didn't give a damn if anyone was witnessing their little affair.

But then he stopped because in the moonlight, there was something on her body, and she must've noticed as she gasped and covered her torso.

"No," he said, and removed her hands. "Let me see."

With delicate fingers, he traced over the white, fading scars that webbed her chest, following the path down over her right breast, just shy of her taut nipple. Before he could explore further, she cuffed his wrist, and he looked up to see her shaking her head and abusing her bottom lip with anxious teeth. "Don't," she whispered, and his throat constricted at the raw and stark sadness in her tone, like she was ashamed. "You don't want to look at them, Bill."

"You're beautiful, Hermione," he murmured, tangling a hand in her hair and capturing her lips in a tender passion. After a few moments, he pulled back slightly, leaving only a small gap for their heated breaths to clash. "Perfect, actually. And do you know why? Because these reflect who you are. You gained these battle scars from your loyalty, bravery, and the love you share with your friends. This isn't a badge of failure, it's one of victory. That's why I find you the most beautiful person I've ever known, inside and out. And it's your inner-beauty that matters the most. "

Honesty wasn't a strong quality of his – not when it was exposed to a girl he barely spoke to, but with Hermione, it felt ordinary. Normal.

Maybe that made him completely bonkers, and it would be wise to seek medical help, but right now, he didn't care. Not in the whole of his thirty-one years had he felt so comfortable sharing his intimacies. He didn't like being an open book, and so held his insecurities and thoughts back because of the reactions he'd receive. And it was strange, yet quite soothing that he'd found someone trustworthy enough this quickly to ditch his usual cool, laid-back demeanour and drop his guard.

All because of _her._

He caught the single tear that rolled down her cheek. "You're beautiful, too, Bill." He felt her brush the three deep ridges from his cheekbone to his jaw, and he flinched at her warm touch. He was hushed when he opened his mouth to protest. Him, beautiful? Unlikely. "You _are. _When you fought alongside us, and saved so many lives that night at the Astronomy Tower. I admired you. I still do. Greyback might've got his claws into you, but you had the last laugh when he was killed."

"But – but he's infected me. I'm not the same person I was. I'm part wolf, Hermione, you don't want to get involved with that –"

"Stop," she commanded softly, continuing to stroke his cheek. "I'll make my own decisions, thank you. I want you the way you are. As human and wolf. But you've always been the William Weasley I've known. There may be a few added traits to your personality and way of life, but it's still you inside. Not anyone or anything else. Just _you._"

And then he grinned, teary-eyed, and dipped his head, engulfing her right breast in his wet, warm mouth, sucking and gently biting with just the right amount of pressure. She cried out, nails raked along his scalp, as she clutched his head, bowing her back to find more purchase. It was amazing. To be doing such an act enraged his wolf, and he peeked up through his half-lidded eyes to see her head thrown back, hands blindly ripping at the grass she lay upon.

"I need more, Bill – it's not enough."

"Quite the demanding one, you are," he rumbled whilst still feasting on her breast, every now and then he'd switch, her moans forming into disjointed and garbled lines of encouragement. Granting her wish, he whipped her dress up, and rubbed her over the red-lace knickers, a dark tuft of hair a neat triangle above. "This enough, sweetness?"

She shook her head. "_No!_" she groaned frustratingly. "Just – no – just stop with the foreplay already!"

"And do what?" He watched as she dabbed her lips. "Come now, sweetness, don't go shy on me now. Say it."

This was surreal; never had he thought in his most treasured dreams would he have Hermione under him, writhing, mewling his name with alluring purrs, and he was momentarily stunned by her lust-filled gaze, dark pupils drowning out her golden honey eyes. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, and she ground against the persistent and light strokes of his hand. "Oh, for goodness sake! Please, _take me!_"

He didn't need to be told twice, as he shredded her knickers with a deft yank, and pulled down his trousers and pants low enough so he was free, hard and throbbing. His wolf was screaming now, begging to be unbound just to get a taste for himself, and so he let it, but only a slight amount – so he'd remain in control, but his actions could lift to a very rough, animalistic fuck. Groaning as his length slid between her soaked folds, he rested his palms either side of her head and bent down to press a lasting kiss to her lips. "Pick a safe word."

Gasping, she echoed, "A safe word? What?"

"A safe word," he certified. "I'm not saying this is going to get out of hand, or that I'm going to hurt you – that will never happen. But if it gets too much for you, ya' know?"

She nodded, apparently understanding and okay with the idea things might get a bit harder than she'd anticipated. "Moon."

Not knowing what possessed her to chose that specific word – maybe because his fear was of the full moon, he'd take it as a alert of danger and so would stop – but he didn't question her; getting into a needless debate would more than likely kill the mood. And with one last affirming look from her, he guided himself in and released a guttural growl as he was blanketed in this clenching, slick warmth, and in automatic response, he felt a crashing wave of what was a cross between elation and a wrath of intense avidity strike him.

He hissed as he took the first careful thrust, making his movements deliberate and slow for the sake her well-being and comfort, though it was tough to stop himself from abandoning that plan and just taking her as hard as he could. At this point, his wolf would've taken full advantage of this situation, but Bill wasn't going to let that happen.

Her nails were digging into his shoulders, and she was clumsily trying to match his strokes. "I'm not going to break, Bill. _Harder._"

Snarling softly, he clasped her hips and started to pound into her hastily, his wolf beginning to shine and creep through the cracks of his human facade. His amplified senses were consuming him; the salty smell of her sweat and potent arousal burnt his nostrils and he bared his teeth from the inferno swarm in his blood.

"You're mine, Hermione," he claimed, his moves blurred from the speed. His voice was a tad peculiar from the mix of his two sides. "Understand? _Mine!_"

She cried out as his tip clipped at the over-tenderised spot deep within her and his thumb steadily flicked over her hard, pulsing bud. "_Yes! Only – _oh, God – _only yours!_"

It was partly in his control, but his wolf was urging him to do it, goading him. If he didn't do this now, he may never get another chance. But then again, if he did do this without her consent, he'd be sure she would tell him to bugger off and never come near her again – that would be extremely bad, the repercussions not pleasant for either of them. Still going strong, he pled in a pressing tone, "Hermione," he gasped; finding the air and right words to do this was proving impossible. "Hermione – I need to – to do something, but I need your permission –"

"Yes, whatever it is, do it –"

He slowed his thrusts, as it was too much of a distraction. "Look at me."

When she opened her eyes, her breath hitched in her throat. Ah, he'd forgotten about that. During intercourse, his irises would merge from his usual sea-blue to a very dark orange – a simple sign that he was sex-driven – and he lost his thoughts for a moment.

That was when he realised.

As wild as it sounded, he then felt... something. A feeling that neither he could explain in speech, not even in writing, but it was there, in the background – something he'd never experienced before, but found thoroughly exhilarating and reassuring. She was striking, infatuating. Each time he looked at her, he felt a rapid, yet pleasant thump in his chest, and he couldn't recall the time he didn't smile when he heard her name. It was obvious now. And he was certain that, if anyone asked him how he felt about Hermione, it would be terribly difficult to withhold his deepest and inner-most sentiments.

He wanted to say it, just him alone.

Swallowing around his dry mouth, his wolf retreated long enough for full, yet temporal control, and there was no sway on what he wished to say next. It was the truth, an earnest declaration. Just a human opening his soul. "I love you." Her eyes widened, but he continued, afraid that if he stopped, he'd never start again. "I know it's completely mental." He said around panting breaths, sweat dribbling down his temples. "I've only just realised, but it's always been there... hidden. But I – I love you. And if you'll let me, I want to make you mine permanently... till death."

Minutes or hours ticked by, he wasn't sure, didn't even care; he only cared about what she was thinking, what she was going to say next. Her mouth opened and snapped shut several times, eyes glistening. "I..."

Oh, _shit._

This wasn't good. She was going to reject him, wasn't she?

Her lip trembled, and tears escaped from her lashes. Without knowing what he was really doing, he caught them with his thumb, and he had stopped moving, just resting within her, the tension too strangling for him to even think of continuing – that hadn't happened before.

"I..." she sniffed, and then a shaky smile curved her lips. "I – I love you, too."

"You – you do?"

She nodded, wiping at the tear-tracks on her florid face. "I didn't say that earlier because I was afraid it would've ruined everything, if the feelings weren't mutual."

_Thank the Gods_! His heart thundered against his bones that sent a vibration along his skin, and it felt close enough to bursting through his chest, but he didn't care. Not one bit. His wolf was at bay at the moment, but it was aching to be freed again. "Does that mean...?"

"Yes," she breathed, tugging him down to her neck and rocking her hips. "Make me yours, Bill."

Wasting no time, he pulled back and plunged into her, regaining that hard, frantic pace. Her moans and exclamations of his name spurred him on, and with one final lunge, their pelvises locked, the tight coil in his gut breaking and sprung open, just as she clamped around him. He howled – literally – and sunk his teeth into the flesh of her throat, breaking through the skin and tasted her tangy, metallic blood, as his orgasm rocked through his body like a tornado, just like hers from the wail that split through her lips.

In that short moment, their magic intertwined, aligned their souls and bonded them with a intense, vigorous oath, and he felt the eternal, uninhibited desire to never let her go – well, he wouldn't. Their beings were fused as one, and now they'd test the boundaries of infinite life together.

He licked at her new wound once he came down from his high in a daze, closing it back up, and begrudgingly pulled out of her with a hiss, wrapping her in his arms. He feathered his fingertips across her flushed cheek, she closed her eyes at the soft caress. A fulfilled sigh ghosted past her kiss-swollen lips. "That was wonderful, Bill, truly wonderful."

His wolf had given Bill the courtesy of withdrawing fully to give them some privacy. "I'm glad. Sorry about the bite, though."

"I didn't really feel it," she admitted, blushing, and absently ran her fingers over the dotted scar. "Well, I did a bit, but it wasn't painful. More... pleasurable."

Nipping at her ear, he relished in her shiver. "I'll take note of that."

A relaxed silence layered over them, and for once, the sight of the moon didn't taunt or frighten him. He felt... at bliss with her at his side. And now, he felt whole because he'd mated with her, that vacant hole in his chest that he'd suffered with for years had eventually rewarded him with the best possible thing; he just had to wait. After all, "good things come to those who wait" wasn't a load of rubbish like he'd previously believed.

That hole was now filled out. No cracks, no splits, not even the slightest imperfection.

He smiled when she sighed and curled against his side, now covered with a blanket he'd conjured up. She really was beautiful; from the crazy, rigorously-shagged hair, the way she gnawed on her lip, and her gentle smile, he knew he could get used to this.

So trapped in his thoughts, it took a moment for him to inhale a different scent from her. _Exceedingly different._

Oh, _bollocks._ How had he not noticed before? This was bad. Very, very bad. He caught her in her prime, her blossoming, and laced with the small hint of his seed confirmed that new offspring had been bred; the thought knocked the air from his lungs, but sent his heartbeat racing to an unnatural velocity. "Um, Hermione?"

She hummed, nearly half-asleep. "Yeah?"

"There's something I need to tell you. Something important."

In his mind, strings of curses were shouted as he watched her sit up on her elbow, smiling. She leant over and kissed him, lightly fiddling with the tips of his hair. "You've already told me that you've loved me." Her face faltered as he shook his head. "What's more important than that?"

He could run and hide for a few weeks and then break it to her, or he could face the issue head on and just tell her the news. Either way, he'd be murdered – not so bad, as it would be done by the woman he loved, and he probably deserved it. Swallowing his pride, he summoned as much courage as he could. God, this was going to be worse than the Battle of Hogwarts. _Bugger._

"I may have gotten you pregnant."

**~ . ~**

* * *

This story has pretty much gone to plan. I did have other alternatives, but I just couldn't get it right. All that is left is the epilogue!


	2. Epilogue

**_EPILOGUE - Four Years Later_**

Benjamin Lucas Weasley yawned. His rosy, pillowed cheeks scrunched up, lids fluttering as he snuggled further into his mother's hold with his hand tightly clasped around his father's finger. Hermione gazed at him with admiration and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?"

"Of course he is," her husband agreed, arms and legs curled around hers. "Who else did he get his good looks from?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and joked, "That's true, but there is also a bit of you in him, Bill."

Life had turned quite hectic since she and Bill had spent that night together at The Burrow's annual bonfire night, and when he'd just so happened to _forget _about knocking her up after consummating. Well, it had taken many apologies and foot rubs through the nine-month period, but once the initial shock had worn off, she'd grown warm to the idea of having a child – especially being able to share that gift with the man she loved.

During that time the pair were insatiable – Hermione from her hormones, and Bill from his inner-wolf, their connection had swelled, not just because they were legally married, mates and had bonded. He'd cared for her and had run to her every beck-and-call, and had showered their unborn child with such devotion and love that it brought tears to her eyes.

When their first born, Alexandra Molly Weasley, had been born with her mother's hair and father's eyes, they'd both cried at how beautiful she was.

Their son had followed, only several months ago, and Hermione knew there would be more to come. Two children weren't enough.

As she sat in the garden with her husband, their daughter playing in the distance, she cradled their son. She couldn't have been happier. A night of firewhiskey and confessions had brought them together in this same exact spot – and created a love – shaping the rest of their lives.

**~ END ~**


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